


Litany

by ponderinfrustration



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Cuddles, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 11:18:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8576356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderinfrustration/pseuds/ponderinfrustration
Summary: If she could she would hold onto him forever and with each breath whisper her love.





	

**Author's Note:**

> One, slightly belated, ficlet to mark a year of my writing in the Phandom.

She twists, stretches, one leg, then the other, her back, her shoulders, and, muscles loosened, body heavy as lead, she sinks deeper into his arms with a whimper. He pulls her closer, shifts so that she fits better against him, his long fingers curled around the nape of her neck.

"My Christine," he breathes. "My Christine." Those words thrill through her, stirring her heart so that she nuzzles deeper into him, craving to _get closer_ though there is no closer that she can get. They are one, shaped for each other, to fit together, and if she could she would hold onto him forever and never let him go, live in every breath, every whisper.

His collarbone peeps over the top of his nightshirt, and she presses one soft kiss to it, and another, and another, his skin smooth and warm beneath her lips. She could kiss him like this always, only and ever like this, soft feather-light kisses to bless him and fill him with love, wrap him safe in it so that he might never know another moment's suffering.

"I love you," she whispers, each soft breath of his enough to sustain her for an eternity, here in his arms. The words weigh just right on her tongue, the shape of them perfectly crafted. "I love you." It is a promise, a vow, a declaration and one that bears repeating as she presses her lips to his skin once more. And though the words are right, they are _not enough_ , are _inadequate_ for all she wants to say, all she wants him to know. She loves him so much it is a constant, low ache in her chest and she feels as if she is bleeding to death if she cannot be near him. Her very heart beats for him and even those words are not enough, fall short of the way that each breath is so tight with longing when they are not together, and she presses herself tighter to him, as if by feeling her alone he can know all that she cannot say.

He whimpers, lips light against her curls, and she whispers them again, those precious words that make his eyes sparkle with tears. (They are sparkling now, though she cannot see them.  She feels it in every line of him, in the way his fingers falter against her neck, and she would tell him not to cry, that she will always be here, but she knows that it is not fear that makes him cry. His own feelings course too deep.) She would whisper them forever, if it only meant that she could keep holding him, as close as this, two bodies folded together. Whisper it, and pray it, and breathe it.

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._


End file.
